


Blood Red Apples

by kipsi



Series: Our Time Will Never End [1]
Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Blood, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 04:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kipsi/pseuds/kipsi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had always been secretly jealous of how Tristan handled his knife, his movements precise and steady.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Red Apples

**Author's Note:**

> This is the beginning of my series of tristhad headcanons. Be prepared for fluff and feels.

It had glinted in the sunlight so beautifully, lying on the stump of a tree so that he couldn't lift his eyes from it. Galahad knew that he had no right to touch it, but he couldn't resist the urge, as he saw the gorgeous, cleaned blade of Tristan's knife. He had always wanted to hold it, especially after he saw how skillful the other's movements were when he handled the knife.

Galahad had taken a step closer to the beauty, biting his lower lip when he lifted the blade up and held it with care. It was rare for Tristan to leave something this precious to himself behind – he had never seen him do that. All of his possessions always traveled with him no matter where he went. Taking this chance, Galahad had made his way to the nearest tree trunk and sat down, still holding the knife with such grace it seemed like he feared for it to break.

Now he sat there, turning the blade in his hands, watching how the sunlight shimmered from it. He wanted to try and use it, just a bit. See how well it would do its work, if the outcome depended on the blade itself or Tristan. He had always envied the way Tristan's fingers worked with the knife, slicing delicate pieces of wood when he was whittling, cutting apples with such ease it seemed impossible.

Taking a long look at the blade Galahad opened the bag he had with him and fished out an apple. He smiled to himself and sank the glimmering blade into the apple, dropping it shortly with a hiss. The green apple lay on the ground now in half with speckles of blood. Galahad watched how crimson blood formed on his fingers, cursing softly to himself. He hadn't thought that the blade would be _that_ sharp, but then again he should have known that – it was Tristan's after all.

He had dropped the knife on the ground with the apple and it had small drops of his blood on it. He sighed and was just about to leave to find his cleaning supplies, when he heard familiar footsteps behind him. Galahad froze when he heard a sigh and soon after Tristan came to his view, taking a seat next to him.

”I thought that it would be clear, not to touch something that doesn't belong to you,” Tristan stated as he took the knife from the ground and regarded it in his grasp. He wiped the blade clean with one measured movement and placed it into its sheath. Galahad stayed silent as he watched the other's fingers work, it was so natural and deliberate.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when Tristan offered him his palm, Galahad staring at it dumbfoundedly before Tristan sighed and gave him a look. ”Let me see,” he insisted then, taking Galahad's injured hand into his own.

Galahad gasped at the sudden movement, his fingers sore and burning with the cuts with blood still leaking out of them. Tristan took in the harm that had been done and lifted the bloody hand gently, fixing his gaze then to Galahad shortly, who watched with curiosity what he was about to do. Tristan hid his smirk and brought the bloody index finger into his mouth, closing his lips around the tip and licking away the crimson, making Galahad open his mouth a few times as he tried to find something to say, but closing it soon enough with a repressed moan. His cheeks colored with embarrassment which made a small smile bloom on Tristan's face.

After treating the first finger, Tristan moved to his middle finger, giving it the same treatment. Galahad tried to fight off his blush, but as he watched Tristan lick his fingers one after another and watching him intently the whole time, he couldn't focus on his own thoughts. Soon enough all of the blood had been lapped up and Tristan released his hand, licking his lips then, Galahad's eyes catching the movement.

His eyes dropped to the ground then, remembering the apple he had cut in half. It still lay there, untouched and bloody. He took the other half into his other, unharmed hand, and took a bite of it, grimacing then to the bitterness of it. He saw Tristan's amused expression and turned to him, about to make a snide remark, when Tristan lifted his knife from its sheath and grabbed an apple from his bag.

Galahad's eyes fixed on those skillful fingers, as Tristan sliced a piece of the apple and brought it soon after to Galahad's lips, pressing lightly there for him to snatch it. He opened his mouth and felt immediately the sweetness on his tongue. It felt unreal, and he watched how yet another piece was sliced free, this time making it's way into Tristan's own mouth. Galahad swallowed and licked his lips, lifting his eyes to Tristan's, their eyes locking instantly.

“How do you do it?” Galahad asked, his tone amazed, trying to find the answer to understand it all. All he received was yet another piece pressed against his lips which he took with a happy hum, not breaking their eye contact. With a few more slices they had eaten the apple and Tristan had yet answered to him.

“I don't get it,” he insisted still, when Tristan cleaned his blade once more and put it away. Shortly he found himself from mere inches from Tristan, being pulled closer, Tristan's eyes piercing him into place. He let out a breath and was captured into a kiss that started with a gentle press, like the apple slices resting on his lower lip earlier, until he opened his mouth and Tristan's tongue swept in, and he could taste it, the sweet tang of him.

Galahad closed his eyes and focused on the feel and taste of Tristan, and as he sucked the other's tongue to get more of that taste, he could feel and hear Tristan grunt against him. It was soft despite the roughness of their chapped lips, and when they finally had to part for oxygen all Galahad could whisper was: “ _Oh._ ”


End file.
